


What I Wouldn’t Give

by phipiohsum475



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fate, Fluff, Germany, Kid!Lock, M/M, Med Student!John, Minor Injuries, Single Parent AU, Single Parent John Watson, Travel, sort of, widow!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man spoke, “I was sitting just behind you, and saw how hard you were working to keep your little girl quiet. I thought I might be able to help. I’ve been told I have a gift with frustrated children; I’ve had years of practice with my younger brother. I hope that’s alright?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Cwof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HumsHappily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/gifts).



> Many, many thanks to HumsHappily, without her, this may never have been completed!

John danced the colourful spider in front of Ellie’s hands, but the distraught little girl smacked it, exasperated by his stubborn refusal to let her out of the car seat. They were on the last leg of their trip into Germany, and they’d been on the bus for hours. At the last stop, Ellie had gleefully run about the station to stretch her legs, but then became inconsolable when John had to strap her back in.

He’d tried reading to her, bribing her with juice and orange slices, but nothing had worked to calm his daughter, and he was getting annoyed and disgusted looks from the other passengers.

He tried the juice again, but she threw the lidded cup on the ground, where it rolled down a few rows in front of them. John held bottled his aggravation deep inside, neither willing to make a scene in public, nor to upset his daughter, who, after hours of travel, was well within her rights to be equally frustrated. He took a deep breath, then stood up to find the cup. He apologised to the first two rows, looking down at their feet and in between their legs, but not finding the purple cup.

Finally, in the third row, he saw it, underneath a woman’s finely shaped calves. He tapped her on the shoulder to catch her attention.

The woman took a sceptical look at him, pulled one of her earphones out, and said snidely, “Not interested.”

John snorted, “Yeah, me neither. But I do want that cup at your feet, if you could?” He pointed to the purple cup on the floor.

The woman had the decency to look properly chastised, but bent to fetch the cup anyways. John heard Ellie’s fussing die down, and was relieved; she might be going to sleep. The woman handed him the cup without a word, and went back to her music before John could thank her.

John turned to his seat, to find it occupied. A young man, just a year or two older than himself, sat in his seat, talking to his daughter. John was torn between anger at the man’s presumption, and gratitude that he’d gotten the girl to be quiet. “Can I help you?” he asked a slight edge to his voice.

The man turned, and John was caught off guard by a brilliant smile, and instinctively smiled back.

The man spoke, “I was sitting just behind you, and saw how hard you were working to keep your little girl quiet. I thought I might be able to help. I’ve been told I have a gift with frustrated children; I’ve had years of practice with my younger brother. I hope that’s alright?”

John stood for a moment, lost in the man’s stormy grey eyes, only realizing the awkward silence when the man tilted his head and asked, “Are  _ you _ alright?”

John stuttered, “Wh-What? Oh, um, yes, sorry. It’s just that when I am offered help from strangers, it’s normally women old enough to be my mum telling me exactly what I’m doing wrong.”

The man gave a huff of laughter, “Yes, I understand completely. But it seems to me that you’re doing everything quite right. It’s just hard for such a little one to understand the concepts required for travel. I can tell you empathise; you are wonderfully patient with her.”

“Yes, well, it’s not her fault we’re stuck on this bus,” John smiled back, thankful for someone whose first reaction wasn’t judgment.

The man stuck out his hand and introduced himself, “Mycroft Holmes.”

“John Watson,” John offered, then gestured to his daughter, “And that’s my daughter, Ellie.”

Mycroft turned to his daughter, who was happily playing with her fingers, “Lovely to meet you, Ellie.”

“I Ellie,” she declared.

“Yes, you are. I’m Mycroft.”

Ellie looked at him complacently, “Cwof.”

“Very good,” Mycroft encouraged.

John watched him interact with Ellie, and marvelled at how calm his presence seemed to make her. He hoped the man might stay in their row; as for the first time since he’d gotten on the bus at the last station, he was no longer receiving dirty looks. He gestured to the empty seat besides Mycroft, “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course! I can move if you’d like to be next your daughter?” Mycroft offered.

“If it’s alright by you, she seems to be pretty keen. Do you mind sitting with us a while?”

Mycroft looked him in the eye, and his lips quirked, “Not at all, John.”

-o-

John woke suddenly to gentle pressure on his shoulder. He startled, and realised he was laying against someone’s arm. Panicked, he pulled away and looked up, and profusely apologised, “I’m so sorry, I don’t  know- I didn’t-“

“John. John,” the man,  _ Mycroft, that was his name _ _,_ said pleasantly, “It’s fine. Ellie fell asleep, too, and you both seemed as if you needed the rest. I don’t mind. I truly don’t.”

John still felt the blush creeping up his face, but accepted Mycroft’s reassurance.

“However, I do believe this is your stop,” Mycroft gestured out the window.

John looked out and jumped up, “Oh yes!” He started to pull together their bags, swinging a pack over his back, then another bag across one shoulder.

Mycroft unbuckled Ellie, who woke, and gave a happy shout, “’Lo Cwof!”

“Hello to you too, darling. It’s time to get off the bus and see your grand mummy, would you like that dear?”

“No! Wan’ Cwof!” Ellie protested.

John held his arms out to take the girl, but Mycroft shook his head, “I can help, John. This is my stop, too.” John stepped back, letting Mycroft out, Ellie on his hip and reached for a simple laptop bag from the row behind them. He walked down the aisle as John unhooked the car seat and slung it over his other shoulder. He was grateful, getting Ellie onto the bus by himself had been quite the chore.

They left the bus and John found a trolley for their luggage, while Mycroft went to the side of the bus to fetch their bags. John loaded their bags and the car seat onto the trolley while Mycroft kept hold of Ellie. A thought occurred to him, and he frowned. He looked at the man holding his daughter, wondering if he should be concerned, “How’d you know this was my stop? And that we were here to see Ellie’s grandmother?”

“What? Oh, yes, sorry. I do that sometimes,” Mycroft looked contrite, “I saw the tickets sticking out of your bag. While you and Ellie here came together, you have another ticket for just yourself for two days from now, so not leaving with your daughter, but not staying – it’s not  _your_ family you’ve come to see. But it’s someone you feel comfortable leaving your daughter with. Given that your wife has passed, her parents seem the most likely option.”

“How’d you know she’d passed?” John asked, curious. He thought he should be a bit more upset at how well this stranger seemed to know him, but he was honestly impressed.

“You took your wallet out at the last station; there’s a photo. Of Ellie, much younger, and a woman who is clearly her mother. In the photo, you can see the port under her blouse, where her treatments were given. She’d been quite ill, so you wouldn’t have left her; you are clearly a family man. You aren’t wearing a ring, but there’s still a tan line on your finger, which suggests you recently came to terms with her passing. I’m sorry for your loss,” Mycroft’s voice was careful and deliberate, factual, but sensitive to the topic.

“Thank you,” John responded, “Mary’d been sick for a while, and though it was terribly difficult when she passed last year, I was just glad she wasn’t in any more pain.” John sighed, looking down at his feet, a sad devotion on his face. “But if you don’t mind, let’s discuss something else. Like your observations -  that was brilliant!” John lauded. “How did you learn to do that?”

Mycroft accepted the change in topic without a moment’s hesitation as they walked towards the station’s exit together,  “Well, it’s rather like reading. Once you learn to do it, and you practice at it, you can’t not.”

-o-

Mary’s mother, Livonia, was in the lot as they had arranged. She looked a bit like Mary, and John found himself both saddened that he’d not gotten the chance to grow old with Mary, but pleased that her parents were so loving and invested in helping out with Ellie. It was going to be rough to be separated from Ellie for the summer, but his next few med school rotations were just too chaotic, and he couldn’t expect his flatmates to bend to such demands. He’d planned to stay two days, to help Ellie adjust, then take the bus back to London for the next eight weeks.

“Hello, Livonia,” John greeted as they got close.

She beamed at the sight of her granddaughter, and exclaimed, “John! Ellie! I’m so glad you’ve made it!” She looked at the Mycroft, and said smiled, “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Livonia, John’s mother in law.”

“Mycroft Holmes, ma’am,” Mycroft extended his hand, “I met John on the bus and offered to help him with Ellie and their things. He’s got his hands full!”

“That he does!” Livonia smiled fondly, “Such a wonderful father. And such a nice boy you are to help out!” She held her arms out to take Ellie.

Ellie snuggled into Mycroft’s chest, “No! Wan’ Cwof!”

John laughed nervously. “She’s rather keen,” he explained to Livonia, and held his hands out to his daughter, “Now Ellie, it’s time to say goodbye! Come with papa.”

Ellie began to cry and fisted her little hands into Mycroft’s shirt. Mycroft waved John off, “Why don’t you set her car seat up, and I’ll put her in?”

John blushed, embarrassed, but agreed. “Yeah, ‘course. I’m so sorry about her. I know you’ve got places to be.”

“It’s no problem, John. As I said before, my brother was always quite the handful. I can be quite flexible.”

John took the car seat and began the arduous task of buckling it in, and Livonia took the opportunity to talk to Mycroft. She turned and asked, “You’ve got a younger brother? Is he as handsome and helpful as you are?”

Mycroft laughed, and John was glad his head ducked down to hide the smile that rose to his lips at the sound. It was a lovely laugh, and John rather wanted to hear him laugh again.

But he continued, speaking loudly as though he knew John was listening, “My brother, Sherlock, is seven years younger than I am. He’s very clever, I’m told he’s exceptionally attractive, but sadly he is just awful in social situations. Too clever for his own good and that smart mouth of his… well, let’s just say I spend far more time trying to keep him out of trouble than I’d like.”

Livonia laughed, “Yes, my youngest son was like that as well, but he’s turned out quite lovely now. I hope the same will be true for your Sherlock.”

Mycroft offered his thanks just as John popped up his head. “Okay, it’s all set. Mycroft, if you don’t mind,” he gestured.

Ellie realized all too quickly that she was about to be put into her car seat yet again, and immediately began to sob, “No, Cwof, no! Wan Cwof! Wan Cwof!”

Mycroft began to sing to her, soft and low, and her cries grew slightly quieter as she tried to whimper and listen at the same time. John could barely hear him, but when he got closer, he realized Mycroft was singing a French lullaby. Mycroft buckled her in, against her meagre protests, and kept singing until the little girl began to drift back to sleep.

John chuckled to himself, then complimented as Mycroft backed away from the car door, “You are bloody fantastic! What I wouldn’t give to keep you!” As soon as the words escaped his mouth, his eyes grew huge and he blushed furiously, “Oh, god, I mean- that’s- you’re just so good with her.” John held his head in his head in his hands and muttered, “I’m going to crawl into a hole and die now.” He ducked down, placing a gentle kiss on Ellie’s head, careful not to wake the girl.

His face was still bright red as he turned to Livonia, tossing Ellie’s bags into the boot, “I’ll be by tomorrow, around 10?”

“Of course, dear,” Livonia smiled, and came up to give him a big hug. She whispered in his ear, “He’s a nice boy, you should at least buy him a cup of coffee. You could use a few friends, John.”

John blushed but nodded, hugging her back, “Thanks, Livonia. Call me if you have any troubles with her, yeah?”

Livonia opened the driver’s side door and turned back, “You sleep well tonight, John. First night off in ages – make sure you rest well!” She started the engine, and with a last wave, drove out of the lot.

John turned to Mycroft, “Thanks again, mate.” John hesitated, but realised Livonia was right. The least he could do was offer Mycroft a latte in exchange for his help. “Say, can I interest you in a coffee or something? To thank you for your troubles?”

“I’d love to, John,” Mycroft’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, “But truly, it was no trouble at all.”

-o-

They settled into a quaint little shop, and after watching John stutter through his rudimentary German for a few minutes, Mycroft asked, “Do you mind if I order?”

John looked at him, “Oh, no! Not at all!” he exclaimed. Of course, if this was Mycroft’s stop too, it wasn’t surprising he might be more fluent than John.

“A black coffee, yes?” Mycroft confirmed, then turned to the barista, ordering himself a tea with a splash of nonfat milk, and John’s coffee in effortless German. He translated the price for John, and John paid while Mycroft waited at the end of the counter for their drinks.

They found an end table between two armchairs and sat. John took a sip of his coffee, then asked conversationally, “So what are you doing around here?”

Mycroft paused, his drink halfway to his lips. “I’m attending a conference,” he answered vaguely.

John groaned, “Oh god, this wasn’t your stop, was it?”

Mycroft hooked an eyebrow, and John glared at him unconvinced. “There is literally nowhere within 100 kilometres where anyone would hold a conference for any reason.”

Mycroft sighed, and set down his tea. “No, this wasn’t my stop,” he confessed.

“Oh bollocks, I owe you a lot more than tea, don’t I?” John lamented, “Why’d you tell me it was your stop?”

“Because it was clear that my assistance,  _ while not necessary _ _,_ ” Mycroft was quick to qualify, “-would be appreciated. I was travelling a few days ahead of schedule, and figured an overnight stop wouldn’t do any harm.” Mycroft looked up to check John’s reaction.

John felt overwhelmingly grateful and blushed, unsure of what to say.

Mycroft smiled coyly, “I must admit, the blushing rather suits you.”

John felt the blood flood his face yet again, up to the tips of his ears, and he looked away, biting his lip. He’d suspected that Mycroft might fancy blokes, but he didn’t dare hope that he might fancy John. Now that question was how to demonstrate to Mycroft that his interest was reciprocated? No doubt Mycroft assumed he was straight, and why wouldn’t he? John had been married to a woman, after all, and in John’s experience, any of his intimacies with other men were brushed off as experimentation as a result. He’d tried dating a bit in the last few months, but it seemed any time the men found out he’d been married to a women, or the women found out he’d slept with other men, they never called back.

John sighed internally, it felt hopeless. But he was never one to shy away; to be meek or timid. He smiled at Mycroft, nibbled at his lip, and then offered, “Well, the least I can do is take you to dinner. There a great little place up the block with excellent Thüringer wurst. If you enjoy German cuisine, that is.”

“I’d be delighted, John. Would you like to head back to your hotel to drop off your bags, and maybe a bit of a kip?”

“That sounds great. Where’ll you stay?” John asked and at Mycroft’s uncertain look, offered, “I can show you where I’m staying, if that helps.”

“That would be appreciated,” Mycroft relaxed, finished the last of his tea, and reclined back in his chair.

“It a lovely hotel, family run. This is a great little village; Mary’s parents moved here after their kids all left the house. They’d honeymooned here and fell in love with its charm; Kurt had spent summers here with his Oma. It’s lovely for holidays, but I couldn’t imagine living here. I’m a bit too attached to London. Where’re you from, then?”

“Oh, I’m currently living in London myself. We’ve actually been travelling together the duration of the trip; you’ve just been so very busy. Dedicated to your lovely daughter. Ellie is such a sweet child, though. I must admit, I find it rather endearing that she’s so fond of me,” Mycroft admitted, with a shy smile, looking to the side, then glancing back at John.

“I’ve never seen her take to someone like that, honestly. She’s normally just so cautious, and to watch her cling to you, well, it was like you’d known her for years. It was amazing. I couldn’t believe you were able to soothe her like that. What was your brother like, that he taught you how to do that?”

“Oh, Sherlock,” Mycroft eyes grew large with exasperation, “He’s... well. He’s bloody brilliant, and a bloody nightmare wrapped up in this strange exotic look that quite a few people, men and women, find attractive. Of course, that just means he uses it to manipulate unsuspecting victims to his will. The boy is just nineteen and giving his uni profs a run for their money. Bribery, doing the chemistry homework of first years for money and blackmailing his peers in classes he hates to do his work for him. He’s no sense of social decorum. It’s... well, I suspect the day will come when it is necessary to bail him out of jail.”

“Why is it all falling to you? Don’t your parents help out?”

“They adore him, he’s the baby of the family. I’ve got the means to assist, and my parents most desperate wish is that I may impart some of my better habits onto him. My parents mean well, but they find a myriad excuses for his behaviours. They truly seem to believe that I have some sort of control over his actions.” Mycroft ran his fingers through his hair, and the curl from his cowlick dropped down onto his forehead.  “And I try. I’m his big brother. I love him, I remember him curling into my lap, begging for stories when he was a lad not much older than Ellie. He wanted Robinson Caruso, Mark Twain, even Dante’s Inferno; books far beyond his age, but you simply couldn’t convince him to read Dr. Seuss. He adored me back then. And I sometime I hope that if I try hard enough, he might come to adore me again when he grows up.”

John saw the wistful look upon his face, and empathised. He nodded, “I’ve a younger sister myself. She’s, well, when she came out, our parents were mostly supportive, insomuch as someone their age could be, but her friends were brutal. They turned their back on her, accusing her of spying on them in the locker rooms, voyeurism, the whole works. She was devastated. Turned to rum to assuage her aches. It kills me that I can’t really help her until she wants help.”

“The burdens of elder siblings, yes?” Mycroft empathised.

John continued; if there was ever a time to make his intentions know, this was it. “Oh yes. Although, after seeing what she’d gone through, I waited until uni to act on my attraction to men. It was a new enough environment that people just assumed my interest in both men and women was who I was; my friends accepted it me as John, who happened to be bisexual. I never did have to worry about the betrayal my sister did. At times, I think she resented me for it.”

“I’m fairly certain both my brother and I prefer the company of men,” Mycroft confessed, “Although he seems completely uninterested in sexual activity. It’s for the best truly, if he were interested, I’d be terrified that his lack of self preservation would result in a host of health concerns.”

“Yes, that sounds dangerous,” John agreed. “All the luck in the world to you.” He finished off his coffee, setting his cup down on the table, “Shall we?” he asked.

Mycroft smiled, “Just lead the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

John checked in at the counter, and the kind gentleman at the counter spent an inordinate amount of type typing on his computer. Finally, he came up for air.

“I do apologise, Mr. Watson, but it seems we aren’t able to provide you with the king sized bed you requested. We do have a room with double queen sized beds, would that be acceptable? I can give you a 10% discount for your troubles.”

John nodded, then turned to Mycroft, “Apparently, I’ve two beds in my room. You can crash with me, save yourself a few quid.”

Mycroft protested, “Oh, John, I couldn’t impinge on your space like that!”

“Nonsense,” John dismissed, “I’d be happy to have you, if you don’t mind sharing a room.”

Mycroft looked at John with a scrutiny that made John feel as though every thought in his head was being examined. “I supposed it would be more efficient. Thank you for your gracious offer,” he conceded. 

John turned to the clerk, “Can you add him to my room?”

The clerk smiled and clacked away at the keyboard, asking Mycroft a few questions and entering his information into his computer. Finally, he turned to fetch the keys, and handed John two. “Room 312, Misters Watson, Holmes. Let us know if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you,” John nodded, then turned to Mycroft and handed him one of the keys. “Shall we?”

The room was tiny, but did, in fact, hold two queens and telly. The bathroom was right off the doorway, and included just a shower, no bathtub. Though inexpensive, it still had a nice, comforting feel, and John felt more that he was staying at a distance relative’s than an impersonal hotel.

“Rather quaint, isn’t it?” Mycroft commented, with an amused tone.

“It’s... a bit like home,” John responded, with a shrug. “It’s why I choose to stay here whenever I visit.”

They each found a place for their luggage, and John looked to Mycroft, “You mind if I shower before dinner?”

“Of course not! I’ll follow after you. Bus travel comes with a peculiar stench and I’m eager to be rid of it.”

John laughed, “I know the feeling. I’ll make it quick.”

And quick he was, just a few minutes, and he exited the bathroom, a white hotel towel around his waist. Mycroft watched him, and John felt a thrill when he saw Mycroft’s gaze over his body, then quickly turn away, a redness to his cheeks. “Plenty of hot water for you,” he promised.

Mycroft nodded his thanks, and ducked into the bathroom, deliberately avoiding looking at John, and definitely not watching the way the water dripped down his chest.

John smirked, and felt his cock stir. He ignored it, and put on a fresh set of clothes. He finally felt rejuvenated after such a long trip and a bit excited for his date. Well, he hoped it was a date. He put on his favourite jumper, and the jeans that Mary had always said highlighted his arse. A touch of cologne, bit of product in his hair, and he felt confident when he looked into the mirror. If Mycroft didn’t approve, then he clearly wasn’t the man John wanted.

John sat back on his bed, and turned on the telly. He found an English station, playing old episodes of Doctor Who, and waited for Mycroft to be ready. He heard the shower turn off, and waited on baited breath. Mycroft emerged, ten or so minutes later, in slacks and a sports jacket, so delectably proper, John’s mouth went dry at the sight.

He gulped, moistening his mouth, and spoke, “Dinner then?”

“That would be lovely.”

John opened the door to the room, and let Mycroft exit in front of him. He took a chance, placing his fingers on the small of Mycroft’s back as he gently guided him out the door. They took the stairwell, and John opened the door, pointing to the restaurant he could see as soon as he went outside.

Mycroft looked sceptical. “Hans’ Wurst Haus?”

John looked at the grey blue eyes, the ginger curl cascading down his forehead, and tried to exude the depth of his attraction with his gaze. “It’s excellent. Trust me on this, yeah?”

Mycroft maintained eye contact, and let his other arm touch John’s shoulder and drift down the length of his arm,  “If you insist, John. You’ve not led me astray yet.”

John smiled, and took a risk. He hooked his arm into Mycroft’s and began their walk to the restaurant. Mycroft seemed content to have John’s arm in his, and even took the extra step of placing his other hand over John’s hand on his arm. John smiled to himself; he was now completely certain that he was on a date.

A date with a man who knew his past with women, and didn’t seem to care. John’s heart pounded in his chest, and every spot where Mycroft touched him, brushed against him, pressed against his flesh, sent warm sparks through him, and his stomach fluttered with butterflies. John was aware that he was sporting a stupidly happy grin, but didn’t mind in the slightest. Even if this was all it was, just a single date with a man who seemed perfectly content with who he was, his past, his daughter, John felt an optimism he hadn’t in months.

They entered into the restaurant, and the scent of German cuisine made John’s mouth water. He slid his arm down, brushing against Mycroft’s hand, hopeful, and his heart skipped a beat as Mycroft took his hand in his. The greeter rattled off rapid questions in German, and John only caught a few words. He glanced at Mycroft, who was watching him, as though he was waiting for permission to take the lead. John nodded towards the host, prodding Mycroft on.

Mycroft spoke effortlessly, and while John understood most of the words, he was thankful that Mycroft was so much more comfortable with the language. Within moments, they were seated, menus thrust in front of them.

“I just want the Thüringer wurst, potatoes on the side,” John told Mycroft. Mycroft perused the menu, and ordered for the both of them when the waiter approached.

Once they weren’t to be bothered, Mycroft looked at John affectionately. He placed his hand halfway across the table, and John took the hint, sliding his hand into Mycroft’s. They held hands as they talked, Mycroft asking about his medical work.

John indulged Mycroft in the tales of a medical student. The nonsense cases he’d put up with, the ridiculous patients, the most amusing anecdotes. Mycroft laughed as John wove enticing tales, telling his stories with considerable skill, knowing exactly when and how to pause for dramatic or comedic effect. John kept a close eye on Mycroft, and was pleased to see that he was rather entranced with John’s stories.

Once they were served their food, they parted hands. Mycroft murmured his appreciation for the cuisine, complementing John’s taste in restaurants, and the conversation flowed between bites, further tales of Ellie and Sherlock, medicine and government.

During their conversation, John took the opportunity to look- really look at Mycroft. He had short auburn hair, and a perfect curl in the dead centre of his forehead. He had a distinguished nose, a smattering of freckles, and striking iceberg blue eyes. When he talked, his hands danced, and John was entranced. He was impressed by the brilliant man, so terrifically clever, and he felt like such the dullard as he couldn’t stop himself from uttering complimentary interjections, “Wonderful,” “Fantastic,” “You are simply amazing.” He blushed as he spoke, but he found he quite fancied the bloke, though he’d known him for only a few hours.

They stayed, for an hour or two after their meal was finished, and when the wait staff started setting the chairs atop the tables to clean the floors, John finally paid their bill. Mycroft tipped, and they walked back to the hotel. They brushed close together, but John was hesitant to reach for his hand. How did one navigate this situation? Mycroft was already, in a sense, coming home with him, but John certainly didn’t want to make any assumptions regarding his next move.

He decided to follow Mycroft’s lead, at least for now. They walked side by side, and John couldn’t help but imagine what a future with Mycroft might be like. John, picking Ellie up at school after a morning in surgery, Mycroft coming home after a day at the office. Mycroft would scoop Ellie up, help her with her studies, and at night they’d tuck her into bed together. They’d lay in bed, side by side, each with a book; or maybe with John catching up on medical research, Mycroft reading international news.

“John?” Mycroft’s voice broke through his romantic haze.

John shook his head and looked up, “Yeah?”

“You stopped walking; you look as though you were lost in thought.” Mycroft asked kindly. “As though perhaps you were thinking about your daughter. I imagine you don’t spend much time away from her.”

“I really don’t. I share a flat with three other blokes, and between the four of us, someone’s always around to watch Ellie. I don’t go out; just classes and studying. My sister’s offered to watch her, but let’s just say she’s not the type I’d trust my child with.”

“I’m flattered, then, that on your first free night in months, you’ve chosen to spend it with me,” Mycroft smiled, inching closer to press his entire arm against John’s side.

John laughed with a grin, “I’m not sure I could have found a better dining companion.”

Mycroft gave a lopsided frown, “I’m not sure you realise how rare it is for me to hear that. It’s been my pleasure, John.”

“How is that even possible?” John gaped, “You’re bloody marvellous, practically a fount of unrestrained knowledge. And your insights! Christ! Oh! And that dry wit you’ve got; you nearly had me rolling!”

Mycroft stepped away from John, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked out onto the street, “More often than not, I’m simply a dry, humourless know-it-all, with little more function than a computer.”

They were nearing the hotel, but John couldn’t wait any longer. It physically hurt to see Mycroft relive the rejections of his past, and John wanted nothing more than to express just how breathtaking he found Mycroft. He grabbed Mycroft’s arm, swinging the taller man into his space, letting himself be pressed up against the stone bricks of the hotel. John looked up into Mycroft’s eyes, to see the surprise there, and wrapped his hand around the back of Mycroft’s neck. He leaned up on his toes, pulling Mycroft down at the same time, and slowly pressed their lips together. John felt Mycroft’s sudden realisation, and subsequently, Mycroft’s arms enveloping him, holding him tightly. John melted into the kiss, feeling the moment when Mycroft took control, nipping at his bottom lip, and slipping his tongue inside as John gasped. The kiss was over shortly after it began, but John was panting. He shifted awkwardly, trying to adjust his cock against his jeans, and gave a small appreciative groan, “Fuck, you are damn well good at that, too.”

Mycroft’s hands fell to John’s side, and he took one of John’s hands as he leaned down. With a hot whisper, he suggested, “Shall we retreat to our room?”

John nodded, breathless, ecstatic, and happily following behind Mycroft, as the man guided them to the hotel lift.

-o-

Once in the lift, they both turned to each simultaneously, and John found himself backed up against the faux panelling, Mycroft’s arms around him again. While John leaned into the kiss, those soft lips, what he loved most was the way Mycroft held him, pressed them together; it wasn’t just a kiss, it was intimate, possessive, protective, and John felt light-headed and giddy.

When the lift chimed to alert them they’d arrived on their floor, Mycroft hesitated in letting go, dropping small kisses to John’s neck, and his hands drifted down John’s back, fingers dragging across his hips. When Mycroft pulled back his eyes were closed, and small smile graced his face.

John stepped out, grasping Mycroft’s hand as he did, and led them to their door. John pulled out his billfold to fetch the key card. Mycroft pressed up behind him, embracing him again, arms encircling him and crossing over his chest. His head dipped down, and he nuzzled into John’s neck with a quiet, pleased hum. John tilted his head, giving Mycroft better access, as he sought out the key and opened the door. He tucked the key back into place and held the door, and together, albeit somewhat awkwardly, they shuffled into the room.

Once the door shut behind them, Mycroft gave a low growl, and spun John around and back against the wall. A moan escaped John’s throat, and with a sultry laugh, Mycroft bent down again to kiss him. Still grasping John firmly, Mycroft slipped his nimble fingers between them, working his way under John’s jumper to the flesh beneath. John smiled against Mycroft’s mouth, and let his hands slide the sports jacket off Mycroft’s shoulders, then moved his hands down over his torso to where his shirt tucked into his slacks.

John vaulted them forwards, wanting nothing more than to pin Mycroft underneath him, to feel the lithe body squirm and pant underneath him. He led Mycroft blindly to the bed, lips and tongue still actively engaged, and when he felt Mycroft’s knees hit the edge of the comforter, John placed his hands on those pale hips and gave a gentle shove.

Mycroft gasped with surprise as he fell. Hands still trapped by his sports jacket, he tried to pull them out, but instead he bounced awkwardly off the edge of the bed. John reached out for Mycroft, trying to catch him by the lapels, but he went down too quickly, and let out a strained squawk as he landed. The thud as he hit the floor was comical, and John almost laughed until he saw the pained look on Mycroft’s face.

“Oh, god, are you okay?” John rushed to help him up. Mycroft shrugged out of his sports coat, and John grabbed his hand to help him up.

Mycroft grimaced, biting back a shout, and yanked his hand from John’s grasp.

“Oh shit!” John was mortified. Not only had he shoved Mycroft down, he’d apparently hurt him as well. “Fuck, let me-“

Mycroft waved him off, then slowly knelt up, then sat on the edge of the opposite bed. “I think it’s injured.”

“Let me take a look,” John implored, holding out his hand.

Mycroft careful extended his left arm, and John carefully held onto his forearm while avoiding touching his wrist. It was turning red, and John let his hand hover over it.

“The wrist is red, permeating heat. May I touch it?” John asked, “Just gently?”

“If you must,” Mycroft allowed through clenched teeth.

John watched Mycroft carefully, how he tightly controlled his pain, his emotions, and he delicately pressed the heated pink flesh. Mycroft barely flinched, but John caught it, and stopped immediately.

“It’s a sprain, is all.” John sighed, relieved, “I can help with that.”

“How do you know?” Mycroft questioned stoically.

John gave a small pout, “I’m a doctor. I know how people sprain.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but gave a small huff of laughter, “You’re a student.”

John held his chest dramatically, “You wound me!”

Mycroft held up his wrist, “Likewise.”

“Shit, really am sorry about that. Wasn’t how I was hoping this night would go at all,” John commented, standing to fetch his bag. “But let me wrap it and I’ll fetch you some ice.”

John turned to pull a bandage out of his bag, and when he looked back, his mouth went dry at the sight of Mycroft, shirt unbuttoned, his white vest underneath. A patch of ginger chest hair peaked out from the top, and Mycroft’s shoulders lilted and writhed as the shirt fell down his arms. John closed his eyes, and took a deep breath; he’d have to be in better control of his faculties as a physician.

He opened them again, concentrating on his task. He resolutely refused to look at the freckles decorating Mycroft’s shoulders as he carefully and firmly wrapped the sprain. Once done, he backed up, staring at his feet, instead of Mycroft’s chest, his arms, his face, his back.

“I’ll just- go fill the ice bucket, shall I?” John turned and rushed out of the room. He took several minutes to calm himself, collecting every ounce of willpower. He half expected he’d need to shove his cock into the ice maker to cool down, but he restrained himself, filling the ice bucket with only ice, and finally returning to their room.

At the door, John realised he’d forgotten his key. He dropped his head against the wood, cursing his stupidity. He stood there a moment, and the door opened out from under him and he nearly fell into Mycroft’s arms. He caught himself on the door handle, and straightened up, ignoring his stumble.

“Take a seat, Mycroft, pick a bed.”

“Best if I share yours, while we’re both awake,” Mycroft suggested, “It’ll be easier for you to help if I need it.”

“Right,” John nodded, and let Mycroft set himself on the side of the bed. He shook several ice cubes into a clean waste bin bag, then tied the bag carefully to Mycroft’s wrist, knotting it over itself. He helped Mycroft get comfortable, tucking a few pillows behind him, and a few more pillows and the hotel’s chair cushion to keep Mycroft’s arm comfortably elevated.

John walked around the bed, then settled in the spot next to Mycroft.

“Telly?” he asked.

Mycroft nodded, and John flipped channels until he found an English station. It was an old American show about team of army doctors on base in Asia. John watched in rapt attention, and when a commercial came on, he motioned to the telly.

“That’s what I wanted to do, you know.”

“RAMC?” Mycroft extrapolated, “Before you met Mary?”

“Before and during, really. She was wholeheartedly supportive of me. Once I finished med school, I was going to apply. But then, well, Mary fell ill, and now it’s just me and Ellie. I couldn’t leave her alone just for that.”

Mycroft reached over with his good hand to take hold of John’s, “Tell me about Mary.”

John glanced over; it was an unusual request from someone he’d been ready to shag less than half hour ago.

“Really, it’s okay,” Mycroft offered, “She’ll always be a part of your life. To know more about her is to know a bit more about you as well.”

John gave Mycroft’s hand a quick squeeze, and started, “We met our second year of uni, I had to take a debate class for fulfil some ridiculous public speaking requirement. She was... brilliant. Just amazing, really. She could decimate just anyone. It didn’t even matter what side of the argument she chose, it didn’t matter if she personally was for or against the topic, she was ruthless. And god help you if it was something she cared about. She’d sneak in, let you set up your arguments, and use every last one of them against you, and then, at the end, just shattered your rationale to pieces, like a bullet to the chest.” John prattled on, a wistful smile on his face.

“And so I asked her to coffee, right after she’d just wiped the floor with me, and she thought I was taking the piss. Told me fuck off. So the next class, I brought a coffee for her, just to show I wasn’t messing about. And that was that. We were married two years later, which might have been a bit young, but in hindsight, I’m rather glad we did. Ellie came about a year later, and Mary got sick right after her first birthday. Didn’t make it to her second.”

Mycroft ran a thumb over John’s hand delicately, “That must have been hard.”

“Incredibly. Mary’s mum stayed with us a while so I could keep up my schooling. Mary didn’t want me giving up on that. Said I’d need to have a proper job so I could take care of Ellie.” John gave a sad laugh, “She’d always said she’d wanted to marry a doctor, and joked that it was her one regret in life that she’d die before I’d become one.”

Mycroft kept up his small act of comfort, tracing small circles on the back of John’s hand, intuitively knowing he needn’t add anything to the conversation.

“Sometimes that was the hardest part, though. She was so damned cheerful about it. I mean, it had to have been hard on her, but she never let it show. Always faced the pain with laughter and witty comments. I know it was her coping mechanism, but I just- Christ, I just needed to cry with her, to grieve the rest our lives we’d never get, and she couldn’t do it. And I couldn’t ask her to, she was already facing too much as it was.”

John rubbed his eyes, hoping to whisk away the tears that were starting to form. “Hell, I didn’t mean to bring the conversation down, I’m sorry. It’s just, no one ever asks, you know? Always afraid to talk about her, like they think I’ve forgotten, and if they bring her up, I’ll get sad all over again.” John choked out a harsh laugh. “I suppose they’re all afraid I’ll do this,” he gestured to his wet eyes.

“It’s fine, John, I assure you. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a spouse. But when I lost my grandmother, with whom I was very close, it pained me that no one ever wanted to speak about her. You seemed just as hesitant to mention Mary as I grew to be about my grandmother. People like to treat death much like an ugly divorce, something to be avoided at all cost.” Mycroft threaded his fingers between John’s, “Memories are lost much more quickly if we haven’t ever a chance to recount them.”

John shuffled a bit closer to him, their arms pressed together, and settled his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Thank you. I mean it, thank you.”

John took the remote in his other hand, and turned the telly’s volume back up. In silence, they watched, arms tangled, until John drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

John woke, as he always did at home, by 6:30. Ellie hadn’t slept past that in three months, and now his body couldn’t be convinced to sleep in. His head lay in Mycroft’s lap, and Mycroft’s good hand was at the nape of his neck. He squirmed a bit, to adjust his morning arousal, but otherwise lay still, calmly basking in the warmth of another body and an intimate, albeit innocent, touch. He moved his hand, resting it on Mycroft’s thigh, for another point of contact between them, and drew worried circles softly on Mycroft’s trousers with his thumb. He looked without moving his head, to see that Mycroft’s wrist was still elevated. He looked at the telly, still on, volume down. Mycroft must have done that after he’d fallen asleep.

He reached down the for the remote at his side and turned off the infomercial playing.

He felt Mycroft’s hand move, and his fingers run through his hair. John hummed at the sensation.

“Did you sleep well?” Mycroft asked.

John took stock of the warmth in his chest, sleepy smile on his face, and tingling sneaking down his neck from those deft fingers. “Very well,” he answered.

They sat silently, Mycroft gently tracing lines down the back of his head, around his ears, down his neck and over his shoulders. John had goose flesh everywhere, and kept up his small affection of rubbing circles into Mycroft’s thigh.

The trill of the hotel phone echoed through the room, and John jumped up, startled. He floundered off the bed, and to the phone. “Hello?” he answered, in a mild panic. Who could possibly need to call him at seven in the morning?

“Everything’s fine, John,” Livonia’s voice reassured from the other end, “It’s just that Ellie’s been inconsolable since she awoke. She’s been crying for you for an hour.”

John sighed with relief, but apologised, “I’m so sorry about that. Can you put her on? It might help until I can get over there.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Livonia agreed, and called away from the receiver, “Charles! Bring Ellie down, I’ve got her Papa on the telephone!”

“They’ll be down in just a mo’,” she told John.

“I’m so sorry, I worried it might be a bit of an adjustment for her.” There was a reason John hadn’t returned to England immediately.

“Oh, it’s fine dear, I’ve dealt with worse. It’s rather sweet, though,” she continued, “She’s been mostly crying for you for the last hour. But every once in awhile, when she seems to realise you aren’t here? She asks for that nice friend of yours from yesterday. Cwof, she calls him. What’s his proper name?”

“Mycroft,” John felt a flush on his cheeks as Mycroft sat to attention. “She did take quite the shine to him.”

Mycroft grinned, and John bit his lip trying not to grin back.

“Yes, well, if your friend is still in town, I think she’d enjoy seeing him again.”

“I’ll have to check,” John lied.

“Oh, here we go,” Livonia spoke to Ellie, “I’ve got Papa on the phone. Do you want to talk to Papa?”

John could hear her lower lip quiver, “Papa?”

“Yes, Ellie, it’s Papa,” he longed to hug her, “What’s the trouble, dear? Are you okay?”

“Wan Papa.”

“I know, luv, I’m coming to see you soon. But remember? We talked about this. You’ll be staying with your grand mummy and grand papa this summer.”

“Gran mum. Wan Cwof. Wan Cwof sing.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure he can come. Sometimes we only have friends for just a little while,” John knew Mycroft needed to continue his travels, and didn’t want Ellie to expect to see him again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mycroft sit up straight, and nod.

“Bye Cwof?” Ellie asked.

“Yes, Mycroft went bye-bye,” John wasn’t sure what the nod meant, but either way, the statement was true enough to Ellie.

Ellie bawled on the other line, loud and distraught, and John held the phone away from his ear to save his hearing. He glanced at Mycroft, who was silently laughing, and gesturing. It took a moment, but John understood.

“Ellie, luv, Ellie,” John tried to capture her attention, and she grew quiet, “I think Mycroft might be able to see you today. But it’s just for today sweetheart, he lives far away.”

“Cwof! Wan Cwof!” Ellie squealed happily.

Livonia picked up the phone, “You see what I mean?

“I do,” John agreed. “He’s staying in the same hotel I am, and I know he’ll be available today. I’m hoping he’ll agree to come visit Ellie with me.”

“If not for Ellie, then for you,” Livonia commented. “Good friends can be hard to find.”

Livonia spoke with a wise lilt, and John couldn’t tell if she was speaking bluntly or euphemistically. Either way, he got the distinct impression that Livonia approved wholeheartedly of Mycroft. “He seemed amenable last night, should he be available. I’ll double check, but regardless, I’ll try to be in early, around nine?”

“That sounds lovely, John. Get some coffee, take your time, I think Ellie will be much happier now, having heard your voice.”

John beamed, the thought of his daughter loving him so much that just the sound of his voice could soothe her, “I’m so glad I could help.”

“Of course!” Livonia reassured, “You’re her Papa! I’ll let her know you are coming soon.”

“Thank you.”

-o-

Thirty minutes later, John ordered another latte for Mycroft from the cafe. Mycroft was coming up behind him, slowed by his lame wrist, but barely. John turned, offering the drink to him and they sat together, sharing an overly large muffin between them.

“Are you sure it’s fine with you?” Mycroft asked for the third time.

“Christ, Mycroft, I’ve a million and one excuses if it weren’t,” John took his hand. “She wants to see you, I want to spend the day with you, and you’ve already confirmed you can’t leave until tomorrow. Unless you’d rather not come along, you are more than welcome.”

“Not come along?” Mycroft gasped playfully, then gave a genuine smile, “Honestly, John, she’s the first person in months to adamantly request my presence.”

John tipped his head and glared seductively through raised brows, “Aside from myself, I’m sure you mean.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you are suggesting.”

John laughed, and Mycroft laughed, and John felt warm to his core. He had no idea how he was going to be able to part ways with Mycroft in the next day or so. They held hands even as John called the local cab company, and as they waited outside the cafe, they stood close to each other while they spoke, sharing stories their childhood woes as elder brothers.

The pink cab pulled up, and John opened the door for Mycroft, letting him slide in first. John gave Mycroft the address, and Mycroft directed the driver. John kept an even distance between them, until Mycroft put his hand between them, tapping on the worn leather seat. John smiled, and intertwined their hands once more. He leaned into Mycroft, brushing their arms together, and they rode in amiable silence.

John recognised their approach, and squeezed Mycroft’s hand. John looked up as Mycroft turned to him, biting his lip uncomfortably. “Listen,” he began.

Mycroft cut him off. “It’s okay, John. I am assuming you’d rather Livonia not be aware of our-“ Mycroft paused, “-close friendship?” he ended awkwardly.

John laughed at the look on Mycroft’s face, and Mycroft went from confusion to being affronted. John laughed harder, until his eyes watered and the cab stop down a long winding driveway leading to a sprawling ranch house. “The look on your face,” John tried to explain, and when that didn’t seem to help, John pulled his hand from Mycroft’s grasp to pay the driver.

He climbed out of his side, Mycroft the other, and when John came around, he had calmed some. “Yes, I would prefer Livonia believe us to be little more than friends at the moment. It’s not a secret I’d dated men in the past, but I’m not sure she’d be thrilled with what could appear to be a one night stand.”

“Yes, and I’d prefer not to explain my injury in detail,” Mycroft deadpanned, holding up his wrist.

“Thank you,” John said, looking into Mycroft’s eyes, but not touching him. He hoped his eyes revealed the gratitude he felt, “I’m so glad you understand.”

Mycroft’s cheeks grew just a bit red, and he looked down with a shy smile. “Well, let’s not keep Ellie waiting, shall we?”

-o-

They walked in the front, John giving a cursory knock before just opening the heavy red door. “Ellie!” he called out into the house, “It’s Papa!”

He heard a squeal from down the hall, and the patter of steps getting louder. Ellie turned the corner, looking up and her eyes grew wide as she beamed, “CWOF!”

John, Mycroft, and Livonia, who had followed her out, burst into laughter.

John watched as Mycroft carefully scooped Ellie up, and joked, “What am I now? Just chopped liver, I guess.”

Mycroft gave Ellie a hug, and then offered, “Would you like to give your Papa a hug?”

Ellie leaned towards John, but as Mycroft tried to pass her off, she clung insistently to him with one hand, only offering the other arm to John for hugs. John awkwardly leaned into Mycroft’s space to hug Ellie, catching a delightful whiff of Mycroft’s cologne. He smiled, at both of them.

Ellie looked down at the arm Mycroft wasn’t holding her in. “Owie? Cwof Owie?”

“Yes, dear, I have an owie,” Mycroft showed her the wrap around his wrist, “But your Papa took good care of it, see?”

“Papa doc-tah!” Ellie exclaimed, then wriggled to get down, “Papa doc-tah, I doc-tah!”

Mycroft set her down, and the girl ran off in a hurry.

John looked to Livonia, “She seems to be in better spirits now. Did she calm down after you called?”

“Oh quite so,” Livonia reassured, “Although her grand papa might have had something to do with it.”

John looked at her, a question on his face.

“Tickle fights,” she explained.

“Oh good!” John said, “Honestly I was a bit worried you were going to say biscuits and sweeties!”

“Oh god no, we start that and she’ll think she can have that for breakfast the next two months!” Livonia turned to Mycroft, “It’s nice to see you again, Mycroft. You didn’t do that helping John to the car, did you?” She pointed to his wrist.

“Oh, no, I just slipped and landed wrong,” Mycroft dismissed, “I was glad that John was staying in the same hotel; hassling with a clinic would make for a much less pleasant day than this.”

John smiled. Mycroft was so at ease, so comfortable with Ellie, even with Livonia. He seemed to have the type of personality that could blend well anywhere. John briefly wondered what his flatmates might have to say about him, but the realisation that they would never have a chance to meet Mycroft sat sourly in his stomach.

“You okay, dear?” Livonia asked, and John realised he was frowning.

“What? Oh no, I’m fine.” He shuffled out of his shoes, and led Mycroft to the sitting room. He took an armchair, and Mycroft settled on the sofa. They heard Ellie come running down the hall.

“Cwof! Cwof! I doc-tah, I doc-tah!” She came into the sitting room, with a brightly coloured doctor’s bag, full of plastic implements. She walked over to Mycroft, dumped the contents of the bag next to him, and began her exam.

“Sot,” she said as she jabbed him in his good arm with a toy syringe. She tried to put the tiny blood pressure cuff over his bicep, and when she couldn’t get it to fit, she moved it down to his wrist. She took the plastic stethoscope and put it in the crook of his arm, and bobbed her head as she pumped the blood pressure ball. After a few moments, she frowned. “Cwof’s sick.”

John grinned as he watched her. They’d played this game many, many times before, and it was beautiful to watch her try and get all the parts right. Mycroft looked at John, and winked.

“If I’m sick, Dr. Ellie, what do I need?”

“Med-cin,” she answered sternly, and found a bright yellow bottle amongst the other doctor toys. She climbed on the couch next to him, and ordered “Open!” while attempting to pull down his bottom lip.

“No, no, Ellie,” John corrected, “Let him do it by himself.”

Mycroft opened his mouth diligently, and Ellie opened the toy container. She tipped it upside down, and everyone but Ellie was surprised to see that the container had apparently been filled to the brim with tiny pebbles from the driveway. Mycroft’s mouth was half full before he jumped up, sputtering and choking; Ellie fell from the couch, landing on the floor with a startled cry. John rushed to Mycroft, pounding him hard on the back as he gasped for air.

Livonia rushed to Ellie’s aid, trying to soothe the girl, who now sobbed on the floor. Mycroft finally coughed up the pebble lodged in his throat. He held onto his knees, heaving, and gestured to John. “Ellie. Scared her. Go on,” he rasped.

“You sure?”

Mycroft just nodded. John turned away from him warily, to Ellie, who was trying to crawl out of Livonia’s lap with cries of “Papa, papa!” He scooped up the little girl, and she buried her face in his chest, continuing to cry, leaving big wet spots on his shirt.

“Shhh, sweetheart, shhh,” John comforted, swaying around the room, patting her back. “It’s alright, baby girl, shhh.”

Ellie began to calm, emitting great sobs every minute, then every few minutes, until finally she just rested against his chest, exhausted.

Mycroft sat back on the sofa, and once he’d caught his breath, he looked over to John and Ellie, whose eyes were red and damp. He reached out to pat her back, but she pulled away.

“No! Cwof hurt me. No Cwof,” she buried her face back in John’s neck.

“Ellie, dear, I’m so sorry,” Mycroft offered, looking contrite.

“Papa!” she declared, holding tightly onto John, glaring at Mycroft.

Mycroft’s face fell, and John reached out for his hand, “It’s okay, Mycroft, she’ll warm back up.”

“Let me find her a drink,” Mycroft offered, and stood up. He pointed with his wrapped wrist to the door to his left, and confirmed with Livonia, “Kitchen this way?”

She nodded, and Mycroft disappeared for a minute, coming back with a sip cup. “Half juice, half water?” he checked with John, who nodded with a smile. Mycroft sat next to John, and offered the cup up to Ellie, “I’m so sorry, darling. Would you like some juice?”

Ellie held out her hand hesitantly to accept the drink, and Mycroft smiled warmly. Once the drink was in hand, she narrowed her eyes, stared straight at him, and threw the cup to the ground as viciously as her little two year old arm could.

John turned his head as he bit back a smile, and Livonia covered her giggle with her hand. Mycroft looked crushed, and John patted his leg and smiled warmly at him.

Livonia spoke up, “Ellie, can I get you a snack before you go to the park?”

Ellie smiled and scampered off John’s lap and off to dining room. Livonia came over to fetch the sip cup laying dejected on the floor. She gave John a knowing look after seeing John’s hand on Mycroft’s leg. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she smiled, giving them a wink, then followed Ellie into the dining room.

John blushed and squeezed Mycroft’s leg, “Wow, was I that obvious?”

The corners of Mycroft’s mouth tipped up, “There’s no denying some chemistry, I think.” He grew serious, “I hope you know that I didn’t mean to hurt Ellie; it was just-“

“An involuntary reaction to choking on a mouthful of rocks?” John finished for him with a chuckle. “I totally understand; she’ll live.”

“Yes, but will she forgive me? I’m rather fond of her.” Mycroft sounded hurt.

John looked to the dining room door, then quickly leaned in to give Mycroft a kiss on the cheek, “She may have to; I’m rather fond of you.”

John let his thumb drift over Mycroft’s thigh, as the weight of his own words hit him. They hadn’t spoken at all about what would happen when they left in opposite directions tomorrow. And while Mycroft certainly seemed to enjoy John’s company beyond a one night stand that hadn’t actually happened, John felt mortified to have suggested anything more affection beyond their brief holiday fling.

He stood awkwardly, “I should gather Ellie’s things for the park.”

Mycroft stood too, immediately recognising John’s distress, and caught John’s arm, “John, it’s okay. I know we go our separate ways tomorrow, but I hope it’s not too forward to me to say I’m quite hoping we may meet up again in London sometime.”

John turned to look, seeing honestly and adoration in Mycroft’s features. He licked his lips and confessed, “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a connection like this. I just- Even if it can’t last, I want today to be- I just don’t want to cock it all up.”

“Then don’t think on it again. In a perfect world, you could expect several enchanting dates to follow; my fondness for you is genuine, and I shan’t take offense should you offer you affections in return.” With a sly look, to confirm that a curious two year old wasn’t peeking, Mycroft leaned in, giving John a soft, tender kiss. “Let us enjoy today.”

John’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a deep sigh. “Let’s,” he agreed. “Help me pack her bag, then?”

“Of course.”

John led Mycroft down the hall. He opened a closet door, fetched a bright green pack with big googly eyes made to look like a frog. He walked down the hall to where Ellie was staying and opened the door.

“Christ,” John sighed adoringly, “They are just so good to her.”

The room had clearly been a home office at one point, but had been decorated specifically to make Ellie feel at home; as though she weren’t just being babysat. The desk, where the computer once sat, had been cleared off and covered with butcher paper, cans of crayons, colouring pencils, and fat round brushes off to the side. The books that used to occupy the bookshelf were now at the top shelf above the desk, and a slew of children’s books, some John recognised as old copies belonging to Mary, some new, and some picked up in second hand stores, filled the book shelves.

There were toys in bins around the room, and John smiled; so many of them were toys he’d remembered playing with as a child, sturdy wooden blocks, and stacking rings ten high, instead of the measly five they sold today. The room was still the same navy blue, but the added bins and the duvet, were oranges and limes; making the room neutral, but inviting.

Mary had never been overly fond of pink, and to see her parents respect her wishes, even now, even in decorating their granddaughter’s room, filled John’s chest with a warm melancholy. He looked to Mycroft, who was looking at a large canvas photo on the wall.

He didn’t touch, but looked to John, “Is this Mary?”

John smiled, and blinked a touch of wetness from his eyes. “Yeah,” he walked over to Mycroft, “That was us, about a month before her diagnosis. We’d taken a holiday with her parents to Köln, and Charles took that. It’s such a great shot. I’ve actually got a copy in my wallet, but it’s pretty worn down by now. You can barely tell, since it’s so close up, but we’re actually in front of the Köln cathedral. I mean, not only is Mary just so beautiful in this picture, but that Ellie actually looked at the camera  _ and _ smiled?” John’s voice had grown wistful. “I’m glad they’ve got it up. I’ve got some photos of Mary in an album, but it’s not the same for Ell’, you know?”

“I do,” Mycroft said softly, taking John’s hand in his.

They looked at the photo a bit longer in silence, before John spoke again, “Right, the park. Can you pull two outfits for Ellie out of the dresser there? I’ll get her diapers and such.”

John packed a handful of diapers, the wipes, cream and Ellie’s favourite stuffed toy, a silly bright blue stuffed replica of penicillin given to her by his flatmate, Mike. He handed the bag to Mycroft, who placed the two outfits inside.

“Livonia will have snacks, and there is a great little kid-friendly restaurant within walking distance. Am I forgetting anything else?” John asked himself.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Mycroft commented, “Does she have a lovey?”

“Just the penicillin,” John held up the odd toy.

Mycroft laughed, “A perfect gift for the doctor’s daughter.”

“And she won’t take anything else either; no sheep nor bears nor rabbits; it must be Penny.”

“An apt name,” Mycroft commended.

“Just between you and me; she has three of them. Just in case one is lost. Discovered that the hard way when I had backtrack two hours to a diner the last time Mary and I drove down here.”

“Just snacks, left? The kitchen then?”

John nodded, and they made their way. Ellie had finished her snack of dried fruit and nuts. Livonia had found an entertaining octopus plate where Ellie could sort the apples from cashews from raisins and such as she ate.

John rifled through the cupboards, finding more of the snack mix, and three apples twice the size of billiard balls. “Liv – where’d you get these apples? They’re huge!”

She called back from the other room; “Oh, we found an orchard where we could pick them ourselves; they’re called Jonagolds. Take several with you, they’re just brilliant!” John shoved a few more in Ellie’s pack, and filled a sip cup with water.

“We were going to head to the park, and then maybe the Deutsches Museum in Munich?” John informed Livonia. “Would it be it okay if we took Mary’s old Volkswagon?”

“’Course, John. It works just fine; I use it occasionally when Charles needs to head to Frankfurt for his hobby conventions, and I still have to get to work. Ellie’s car seat’s still in the Insignia, though, you’ll have to move it over. When do you think you’ll be back?

“By dinner. I’d like Ellie to have another chance to get used to your night-time routine, if that’s okay?” John answered, then corrected, “We won’t stay for dinner, don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense,” Livonia waved him off, “You’ll both come for dinner, I’ll do something proper German for you boys, something  _ wurst _ .” She beamed at the both of them, and wagged her finger at Mycroft, “You’d better come too, love.”

“Of course, Mrs-“ Mycroft recalled the name on the mail in the foyer, “Mrs. Morstan.”

“Aren’t you a dear?” Livonia gushed, “So proper. But call me Livonia, or Liv if you’re in a hurry.”

Mycroft smiled fully, flattered by just how welcomed he’d been John and his family. No one ever treated him so...  _ normally _ .

John picked up Ellie, and asked her sweetly, “Ready to go to the park? With Papa and Mycroft?”

Ellie beamed, smile full of  milk teeth, “Park wit’ Papa!” Her smiled turned vicious, and she glared venom at Mycroft. “Papa, no ‘Cwof.”

John looked to Mycroft, who looked genuinely crushed. His heart fell, and he pulled Mycroft into an embrace with the hand he wasn’t holding Ellie in. Ellie pouted and faced the other way, but John tucked his head into Mycroft’s shoulder, and said softly into his ear, “It’s okay, darling, I promise she’ll be over it by the end of the day.”

Mycroft’s cheeks turned red, a gorgeous compliment to his freckles and the lovely red comma of a curl that cascaded down his forehead. He looked to John, darting his eyes to Livonia and back with alarm.

John chuckled, and explained, “She knows, Myc and she doesn’t care. It’s been over a year since Mary passed, and I think she just hopes I end up happy. And it doesn’t hurt that she saw how much Ellie loves you.”

Mycroft  gave a dismayed frown, “ _ Loved _ me, you mean.”

“It’s...  _ endearing _ how much you care,” John smiled, “But let’s head to the park. You’ll see.”


	4. Parks and Recreation

The park was spectacular in its sprawl; a wooden behemoth of at least three levels. John let Ellie go, watching her from a short distance, letting her explore and climb on her own. Mycroft looked after her, concerned, “Shouldn’t you stay closer? She could fall!”

John smiled, and took Mycroft’s hand, “She could, and I will be here for her. But she can’t learn her own boundaries if I protect her all the time. If she can climb it, she can play up there. I’ll stay close by, but I love watching her figure it out on her own.”

“Is that safe?” Mycroft asked, knowing little about toddlers.

“Did you know that there has been a significant increase in broken legs in toddlers?” John asked.

“From standing back?!” Mycroft panicked.

“No. From parents, who insist on going down the slides with their children. They are so paranoid to let their children experience the playground on their own, they even take the slide with their kids. And if the kid’s leg gets caught; say from the friction of the plastic slide against the rubber soles of their shoes, the weight of the parent going down the slide snaps their femur.” John gestured to Ellie, less than six metres away, “That’s what being too cautious gets you.”

Mycroft looked to John, impressed, “Really? It’s always seemed otherwise.”

John nodded, “People spend so much time trying to protect their kids, they forget to teach their kids how to live. How to understand their own limits. It’s a shame, really.”

Mycroft looked at John with a fond appreciation, “I think I could have used you when dealing with Sherlock.”

“Yes, tell me more about that troublesome brother of yours. Sounds like quite a story,” John commented, keeping his hand in Mycroft’s as he moved to keep Ellie in constant view.

Mycroft shared stories of Sherlock, leaving John in tears with laughter, while they circled the playground continuously with an eye on Ellie.

John held his stomach until he could breathe properly again, then looked up to see Ellie climbing to the top of a domed climbing frame. He squeezed Mycroft’s hand, “This might be trouble.”

Mycroft tensed up, and John explained, “She can get up, but then she’s sometimes too afraid to come back down. She’s not fallen yet, but let’s go closer.”

They walked to the edge of the climbing frame nearest Ellie, where she happily manoeuvred her way up with pudgy hands and rubber soles. Mycroft bounced slightly nervous on his toes, as though preparing to dive through the bars at a moment’s notice should Ellie fall.

“It’s okay, Myc,” John comforted, “Really.”

Ellie made her way to the top of the dome and giggled happily. Taking her time, she carefully sat on a cross bar, legs straddling a beam, and arms holding on. She sang gleefully, “Beah ova da mown-ton, beah ova da mown-ton, beah ova da mown-TONNN, ta see ta see ta see.”

John chuckled; her tune was close enough, but she hadn’t quite grasped the words. After a minute or two, her warbling died down, and she looked around at the climbing frame. She tried to move her legs, but couldn’t seem to find a way to move that didn’t cause her to become off balance. She gave a small whine, but as she continued to struggle, the whines grew into louder cries.

“Let me,” Mycroft offered, and folded his tall frame nearly in half to fit between the bars. He walked under where Ellie was stuck, and offered her, “Here, I’ll help you, dear.”

Ellie almost let go, until she saw the face of her rescuer. “No! No Cwof! Papa! Wan Papa!” She clung desperately to the bars, wrapping her arms and legs around tightly, so that Mycroft couldn’t untwine her and hold her up at the same time.

John rolled his eyes at his daughter’s antics, but climbed into the dome all the same. “Papa’ll help,” he told her, and held her carefully as Mycroft carefully pulled her arms and legs off the bars. When she was securely in John’s arms, she glared at Mycroft again, but John frowned.

“No, Ellie, that’s not kind,” John corrected her, “Mycroft helped you. You don’t have to give him hugs if you don’t want to, but you need to say ‘Thank you’.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes at John, and he looked back sternly. She looked away from him and at the ground, and muttered, “Tank oo, Cwof.”

“Of course, love,” Mycroft patted her arm; pleased when she didn’t immediately yank it back, “I’m still so very sorry for scaring you earlier.”

Ellie frowned, but tried to scramble out of John’s arms, “Down!”

John put her down and watched her run off, “And there she goes.”

Mycroft looked after her fondly, and gave a sad smile, “She’s never going to forgive me, is she?”

John laughed, “Yeah, she will. See over there, the bloke selling the candy floss? I’m thinking I’ll let her have a bit of a treat after lunch. You can give it to her though, and I promise you, all will be well.”

-o-

After about forty minutes, Ellie came back to John.

“Thirty,” she announced. John nodded, and reached into the bag.

“Thirty of what?” Mycroft asked, confused.

“No. Thir-ty,” Ellie corrected.

“Thirty?” Mycroft didn’t understand.

“THIR-TY!” she hollered, as though he were particularly deaf.

John laughed at their exchange, and said to Mycroft, “ _ Thirsty, _ ” as he handed her a cup of water.

“Thirty,” she agreed, then emptied the cup.

“What do we say?” John prompted.

“Pease?”

John shook his head with a smile, “Close enough. Are you hungry, dear? Should we get lunch?”

Ellie’s eyes grew large and she began to bounce as she begged, “Jack-to! Jack-to!”

“I don’t know if they’ll have jacket potatoes, but if they do, you can have one,” John promised, and Ellie immediately began to tug on his arm.

Mycroft laughed, “She’s two and wants a jacket potato? That’s not what you normally think of when you think of two year olds.”

“I’ve learned that every kid has at least a few of those quirks; things they like or do that doesn’t seem to fit with childhood at all,” John shrugged. “Figure a jacket potato is pretty easy. One of her friends will only eat spinach pizza, another has to have the seam on his socks line up with his toes, or he’ll cry until it’s fixed. Sometimes for hours. Learned that one the hard way.”

John jolted forward as Ellie pulled on his arm, and he grabbed onto Mycroft’s arm as he went. She led them to the restaurant; though John wasn’t entirely sure how she knew where she was going. She either had a fantastic memory, or a very specific sense of smell, because she dragged them both to the front door. John smiled, impressed with his daughter, and looked to Mycroft. 

“Is this good?” he checked. 

“Smells fantastic,” Mycroft smiled, shifting so that John’s hand was no longer on his arm, but in his own hand. “Let’s call it my treat today, shall we? Recompense for the coffee, dinner and the room?”

John began to protest, but Mycroft cut him off. “I insist,” he said, looking at John, who glanced at him between keeping on eye on where Ellie was headed. He counted on John being distracted, and sure enough, as Ellie ran to a table without being seated by a hostess, John agreed quickly and ran after her. 

Mycroft spoke with the hostess, offering a plentiful gratuity for her understanding, and she sat them all at the table of Ellie’s choosing. With a quick glance at the menu, John knew what he’d select for he and Ellie, and was able to rattle off their selection when the waitress came by, in adequate German. Mycroft finished off the order for the table, and as the waitress walked away, he complimented John. 

“Your German is actually quite good, once you’ve acclimated,” he said. 

“And I leave tomorrow and will forget it all once again,” John laughed.

“Perhaps, if I am fortunate, I’ll get the chance to quiz you?” Mycroft suggested. He truly hoped to see John again, even if might take a few months, and even if it were only sporadically, as might be necessary for a medical student. He’d found John to be a wonderfully pleasant companion, and hoped that he might see him somewhat regularly in London. 

“You find me in London,” John laughed, but only half joking, “And you can quiz me all you want.”  

Mycroft smiled, with a smug confidence. John had no clue how well connected he was, and Mycroft fully planned on taking advantage of his knowledge. But he played as if it were up to chance, and with a forcibly casual shrug, said,  “I do hope I have the opportunity.”

-o- 

Lunch was a standard affair. Ellie devoured her jacket potato with all the grace a two year old could muster; and even managed to eat most of the broccoli John had insisted be on the potato, along with cheese and bacon. How she’d developed a love for American style potatoes, well, John had no clue, although he suspected one of his flatmates held the blame. 

He and Mycroft had eaten with sparse but comfortable conversation, and now that their plates were clean, they pushed them aside. The conversation switched from casual small talk to stories about Mycroft’s precocious childhood, and his difficulty in adjusting to sixth form at a tender eleven years. 

John was astonished; he wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually met a genius before. He was mildly envious that Mycroft had completed two doctorate degrees before he’d even done the requisite years of medical school, let alone the additional training. 

“It’s really not that impressive,” Mycroft dismissed, “My intelligence came naturally; I was born with it. The work that you’ve put into your degree, with a sickly wife and a child; that is impressive. Your motivation, your dedication; I’m in awe, John, truly I am.” Mycroft let his hand drift to the middle of the table, unassumingly. 

John blushed, but met Mycroft halfway, taking the long, pale fingers into his palm. “Needs must,” John admitted reluctantly. Praise was certainly never something he’d been used to growing up. “So,” he tried to change topics, “what exactly is it you do?”

“Just a civil servant, I’m afraid; it’s all a bit dull.”

“But you’re brilliant, bloody amazing! Why civil service?” John asked, appalled. Certainly someone as clever as Mycroft should be in research, development, innovation. 

Before Mycroft could answer, the waitress returned to take their plates. She smiled at Ellie, relatively clean compared to the floor, and asked in English, for Ellie’s benefit, “Are you having a lovely meal with your Daddies?”

John’s eyes grew wide, but Ellie spoke first. She pointed to John, “Tha’s my Papa,” then to Mycroft, “Tha’s my Cwof.”

Mycroft tried to hold back a grin, but it was all too clear he was pleased. Ellie looked at him, then looked to the side, clearly thinking. 

The waitress sputtered and apologised, “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I saw his ring, and-”

Mycroft waved her off, “A simple misunderstanding, no harm done.”

Ellie looked back to the table. “Is Cwof a papa?” she asked John. 

John looked up to Mycroft to confirm, then answered, “No, sweetheart, Mycroft doesn’t have children. He’s not a papa.”

“Cwof can be my papa too?” Ellie asked eagerly, as though she believed Mycroft’s parenting status was up for grabs, and she was willing to put aside her grudge to capture him for her very own. 

John turned a lovely shade of maroon and tried to speak, “Well, that’s- um- he’s-”

Thankfully Mycroft swooped in. “It takes a long time to be a papa, Ellie. Even if you decided you wanted me to be your papa right now, it could take a very long time, until after Christmas, even.” He took her little hand in his, and smiled softly. “I have to go away tomorrow, just like your papa does. But maybe I can see you again when you see your papa again. And no matter what, I will always be your friend. Is that okay?”

Ellie thought on that for a moment. “Cwof my friend,” she announced. 

“Absolutely,” Mycroft answered without hesitation. “May I give you a kiss on your cheek?”

“No. No kisses!” Ellie exclaimed, then conceded, “Hug?”

“I would like that,” Mycroft said, then leaned over to give Ellie a strong, comforting hug.

John was pleased to see that Mycroft didn’t press the issue; that he didn’t give her a peck on the cheek regardless, but respected his daughter’s choices. More than ever, he wanted to meet up with Mycroft again; he could see this leading somewhere. Even if they didn’t work out as a couple, Ellie clearly adored him, and he was a wonderful influence on her. He could teach her so much. John hadn’t felt this enamoured since he’d gone to coffee with Mary, all those years ago, and it pained him slightly to know they would be parting ways tomorrow. He squeezed Mycroft’s hand, trying to convey the sentiment he would never be able to articulate in a single motion. 

With a quick nod, Mycroft displayed his acknowledgement, but then moved onto a different topic, much to John’s relief. Once Ellie was finished, John picked up what he could off the floor of Ellie’s mess while Mycroft paid the bill. 

They made their way out of the restaurant, and John turned to Mycroft. “It’s about an hour out of the way, but there’s a museum with kids’ stuff in Munich and Ellie could nap in the car on the way. Do you mind? It’ll be loud and full of kids, but it’d keep her busy.”

“Sounds ideal,” Mycroft approved, knowing that when dealing with such a young child, keeping them happy, safe, and reasonably entertained was best for the whole group. Ellie walked sluggish between them, her pudgy hands in both John and Mycroft’s, and gave a big yawn. “Seems as though Ellie may approve as well.”

“It’ll work out well; Ellie and I can’t typically spend more than two hours in a place like that, and that gives us time to get back to Livonia’s for dinner.”

-o-

As John had estimated, the museum was a bit more than an hour away. Ellie had fallen asleep within moments of their trip, and had slept solidly by the time they’d arrived. They paid the admission to the Deutsches Museum, and went directly to the Kid’s Kingdom, following the high pitched murmur of tiny, happy voices. 

It had been a long time since John had been here, and while some of the exhibits had changed, much of it was familiar. The last time he’d been was perhaps three or four years ago, when he’d first come to meet Mary’s parents. The lot of them took Mary’s young cousin to the museum for the afternoon. Mary chased the little tyke around, while her parents peppered him with questions.

Ellie squealed in delight, pulling John from his memories, and looking up, he was thankful he’d planned ahead for all contingencies. There was a tall waterfall that spilled into a large stainless steel channel, in which were water wheels, cranks, scoops, and chambers for curious fingers. There were hooks with a variety of small rain slickers, which he knew Ellie wouldn’t wear, but tried to convince her anyway. 

Mycroft stayed near the wall, his face near blank except for his brows, which arched alarmingly high. Once John had gotten Ellie set up on a plastic stool, near a wheel well and three or four water toys, he turned to Mycroft, and burst out laughing. 

Mycroft gave a curious frown. 

“No, no, it’s-” John chuckled, “You look bloody terrified.”

“It’s very-” Mycroft paused and thought a moment. “Active,” he replied diplomatically. 

“It’s mad, I know,” John smiled, and walked the few steps to stand by Mycroft. “It’s okay, most places for kids are always a bit potty,” he explained, and took Mycroft’s hand once again. The familiar warmth pressed against John’s palm, Mycroft's long fingers settling into the same comfortable creases between his own. The speed with which this simple intimacy had become commonplace was slightly alarming, even more so knowing that he and Mycroft would depart from the train station tomorrow, in opposite directions. 

He pushed the thought from his mind, but pressed closer to Mycroft, his head almost resting on Mycroft’s shoulder as they watched Ellie giggle and play as she splashed in the water. 

“She will be absolutely dripping,” Mycroft noted with amusement.

“I’ve a whole extra kit for her,” John reassured him, “but just look at how happy it makes her.”

Ellie was using a small sifting shovel to scoop out water, watched the water dribble through the holes and happily cried, “Wain, wain, wain! Lots of wain!” Then, heaving her little body up a bit and leaning over, she gave the water a mighty smack with her tiny hand. “Spwash da puddle! Spwash da puddle!”

“Ellie, dear,” John straightened up, ready to catch her if necessary, “Feet on the stool.”

She turned to look, and even as it happened, John was already darting towards her. The tilt of her head tipped her balance, and she tumbled crookedly into the channel; the shallow rush of water building up against her and washing over her. Two others reached her at nearly the same time, as was often the case with childhood accidents in public settings, and one of them,  a young man in his teens, scooped Ellie out of the water. She sputtered, then cried in alarm, reaching out, and John pulled her to him and held her tightly. He nodded a quick ‘thanks’ to the adolescent, then rocked Ellie as he patted her back, murmuring soft words. 

Mycroft approached quickly, a towel having appeared suddenly in his hands, and tried vainly to dry Ellie, much of whose sopping wetness was seeping into John’s clothes. He nodded to the towel, “The worker says it happens about twice a day; they’ve always got towels on hand.”

John laughed, and Ellie glared at him between tears. He put on an exaggerated smile, and booped Ellie on the nose. “You silly duckling. Ducklings aren’t supposed to be all wet, they just shake it off,” He wiggled together with Ellie, ignoring how cold she made him, and focused on rubbing her back with the towel, trying to warm her up a bit. 

Mycroft muttered from behind John, “I have her bag, and there is a family restroom in the hall to the left.”

“Do you hear that, Ellie?” John asked her, grateful for Mycroft’s help, yet again. “Cwof’s got your dry clothes. Should we go dry off?”

“Dry,” Ellie agreed with a soft, sad, snuffle, then looked to Mycroft. “Tank oo, Cwof,” she offered without prompting, and John smiled. 

Mycroft smiled back, “You’re welcome, love.” Seeing the opportunity for a bit of a lesson, he continued, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Help each other?”

Ellie nodded sullenly, and Mycroft gave a soft chuckle, “There is my sweet Ellie-phant! Can you give me a big grumply Ellie-phant snort?” Mycroft made quite an undignified noise, and John stifled a laugh, while Ellie laughed outright. 

She giggled the entire walk to the family restroom and Mycroft held open the door for she and John, then followed in behind them. They functioned like a unit, John undressing Ellie, and receiving the needed articles of clothing from Mycroft. The situation was warmly comfortable, as though they’d done this many times before. 

Once Ellie was dry and warm, she eagerly climbed into Mycroft’s arms, and out of John’s cold, wet ones. 

“Didn’t think to pack for me,” John muttered, holding his arms out to demonstrate exactly how wet he’d become holding his drenched daughter. 

Mycroft laughed, and Ellie mimicked him. 

John gave a heartless glare, and Mycroft offered, “There are shirts in the shop, we’ll go get you one?”

“Yeah, I think I might need that,” John sighed, reaching down to pull his jumper off. 

John watched with a bit of pleasure as a blush rose up Mycroft’s face. 

“We’ll…” Mycroft hesitated, watching John. He collected himself, then spoke to Ellie, “Shall we find Papa a new shirt?”

“Yes!” Ellie grinned, “Papa shirt!”

-o-  


Ten minutes later, John was wearing a magenta pink polo shirt advertising the museum with a knit logo on the left hand side. But he was warm, and less cold and wet, so while it wasn’t his favourite colour, or a colour he’d even worn at all since infancy, he pulled it on while Ellie clapped. 

“She picked it out herself,” Mycroft told him, with an apologetic shrug. 

“It’s perfect,” John announced, watching the beam on Ellie’s face, but not missing the warm approval on Mycroft’s face as well. 

Damnit. He wanted Mycroft to be there for him. For Ellie. It felt cruel that they’d be parting ways. John couldn’t imagine a better father for Ellie, other than himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally true about the slides:   
> http://www.nbcnews.com/id/32880360/ns/health-childrens_health/t/steep-risk-parents-slide-can-snap-tots-leg/#.VklFSb-BuQM
> 
> The museum:  
> http://www.deutsches-museum.de/en/exhibitions/kids-kingdom/waterworld/


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner went without a hitch, although John was slightly mortified when Livonia demanded they all exchange numbers, so that if Ellie needed comfort, she could call whomever was closest. But he couldn’t be too upset, now that Mycroft’s mobile number was in his phone. He suspected quite highly that Livonia was playing matchmaker. 

He was inordinately grateful for her meddling; the thought of his ex-wife’s mother helping him land a delicious and suitable beau seemed downright improbable. But here she was, entering in Mycroft’s mobile number into his own phone, so that they could coordinate how they’d make Ellie happy. 

However, there was no soothing Ellie’s tears when it came time for them to leave. She’d slept all the way home from the museum, and was still awake when John and Mycroft prepared to leave. She saw the big hugs her grandmummy and grandpapa were giving her Papa and Cwof, and could tell the mood had shifted from the friendly nonchalant banter of someone just leaving for a night, and the serious, sad tone of someone leaving for a long time. 

She began to wail, and John hugged her tightly as he tried to explain why she had to stay. It was the same speech he’d given her several times over the last few weeks, but only now was she realising what it meant.

“No go home!” She pleaded, “Papa stay wit Ellie.”

“I’m sorry, my love, but Papa and Mycroft have to go now,” John spoke softly, in a reassuring tone. 

“Cwof? Cwof stay wit me!” Ellie began to panic. She hadn’t realised that both John and Mycroft would be leaving her. 

“No, sweetheart,” John tried to tell her, “He’s work to do.”

Ellie’s fat tears poured town her face, and she pushed away from John to reach towards Mycroft with her fists aching to grasp him. Mycroft held out his arms and Ellie scrambled into them. “Papa go and Cwof stay wit me,” she said, negotiating, wet eyes open wide. 

A wave of a hurt washed over John, that Ellie was willing to give him up in favour of Mycroft, but quickly chastised himself for taking a toddler’s fickleness personally.

“I’ll talk to you every night I can, Ellie,” John had to pry his daughter out of Mycroft’s arms to hand her back to her grandparents, “I’m so sorry, love. I am. It’s just for a little while.”

“Oh!” Livonia said suddenly, “Ellie, I have a chart for you! A sticker chart to count the days until Papa comes back!” She turned to her husband, “Charles, would you fetch the chart please?”

John nodded, realising he too had forgotten he’d planned on giving Ellie a going away present. “I’ve got something for you, too.” He took his bag off his shoulders and set it down, and found a crinkled, wrapped present, with faded edges that showed it had traveled the long distance with them.

He handed the large package to his daughter, and she tore it open, and genuine smile on her face behind the streaked tears. 

She looked at the gangly grey stuffie with an inquisitive, toothy smile, “Nother Penny?”

“No sweetheart, this is a brain cell, a neuron,” John tapped softly onto Ellie’s head. “All those thoughts in there? How your brain tells your lungs to breathe, or your arms to move? Those are neurons. Like this one here. I thought Penny could use a friend.”

Ellie nodded, her tears waning. She looked from John to Mycroft, and back to John, and looked down at her feet and mumbled. 

“What was that, Ellie?”

“Can he be my Cwof? You have a Cwof, can he be my Cwof?” she asked, thrusting the brain cell out in emphasis.

There was a collective sigh of affection from the room, and John looked up to Mycroft, who wore a gentle grin, and a brilliant shine in his eyes.

Mycroft spoke up before John could, “Of course, Ellie. You can tell your Cwof all the things you’d want to tell me, until I see you again.”

Ellie hugged the neuron tightly, “Kay.”

John dropped down to give her one last kiss, and Mycroft wrapped Ellie and her Cwof into an embrace, and together, looking back with a final wave, John and Mycroft walked down the path where their pink cab awaited. 

-o-

John flopped onto the hotel bed that he and Mycroft shared the night before. The other bed was still softly mussed from both John’s bag and from when Mycroft had sat carefully on the edge that morning to slip into his oxfords single handedly; housekeeping hadn’t bothered straightening the edges. However, the bed they had shared was now crisp and flat, and there were two small chocolates from the local fudgery on the pillows, which John reached up above his head and blindly grasped at. 

He found one, and peeled off the foil, popped into his mouth, and sighed. “I hate leaving her behind. I’ve never gone more than a weekend without her. Now I’m supposed to just go on for eight weeks with nothing but phone calls?”

Mycroft sat next to him, so that his injured arm was nearest the edge. He placed his free hand on John’s leg, and leaned back slowly so that they were lying side by side, warm thighs pressed together.

“She will be fine. She won’t remember it two years from now. And you are leaving her with her grandparents, to finish your medical education. It’s not as if you’re dropping her off at the neighbors to follow the Grateful Dead around the colonies.”

John’s laughter burst out suddenly, “The Grateful Dead? Christ, how old do you think I am? How _high_ do you think I am?” John rocked into Mycroft’s side and teased, “And what a dated reference - don’t listen to music much, do you?”

“It was the first band I could think of that had groupies,” Mycroft sputtered, then put on lofty airs. “But no, I’m not into the pop music all you _youngsters_ are into these days. Such noise,” he gave a shudder of disgust. 

“Youngsters?!” John popped up on an elbow, so he could look Mycroft in the face. He saw the sparkle in Mycroft’s gunmetal blue eyes betraying the faux distaste he wore on his lips. John smirked, “Well, you do have- what? A solid ten to fifteen years on me?”

Mycroft’s face went from playfully haughty to incredulous, and John swooped down to catch the protest on his lips with a kiss. Mycroft’s lips were soft and dry, and John moaned quietly, sliding closer to him, letting his leg inch up over Mycroft’s thigh. 

“Best be gentle with me, John,” Mycroft spoke against John’s lips, “I’m an old man, after all.”

-o-

As John poured his affection through tender kisses, he let right hand drift up to unbutton Mycroft’s shirt, and played carefully with the unruly ginger curls on his chest. A long time ago, when John was still trying to figure himself out, it was this that made his preferences clear to him. He loved the hair on men; just like he liked the breasts on women; they were two so distinctly different characteristics, he knew he wasn’t confusing his attraction. And Mycroft, well, he wasn’t sure, with how proper his new beau seemed to be, if he’d be freshly waxed or shaven, and he’d nearly fallen to his knees the night before when he saw the curls that peeked beneath Mycroft’s undershirt. 

Mycroft smiled against him, running his good hand through John’s hair. He let his nails drag softly down John’s nape, then down his side after John hurriedly pulled off his own shirt, chuckling as he felt the gooseflesh explode on John’s torso.

“I’m not sure how I’ll go eight weeks without feeling your touch,” Mycroft murmured, “Now that I’ve had a taste.”

John paused. Then he backed away, the stupid smile on his face slowly melting, like fighting off a drug. “I- we- we shouldn’t do this.”

Mycroft’s face instantly shuttered close, but quickly recovered, though his content smile no longer reached his eyes. John could almost feel ice run through the veins beneath the pale, freckled skin. “I see.”

“No - not like that. I want to, _Christ, I want you_ ,” John pressed soft kisses to Mycroft’s face. “But it’d be- well, it’d feel like a one night stand, and this-” John paused, not sure how to continue without possibly humiliating himself.

Watery blue eyes searched John’s expression, then lit up, as Mycroft completed the sentence, “-this is more than that. You feel it, too.”

John huffed out a laugh, elated, “Oh, thank god, it wasn’t just me.” He pressed his head down on Mycroft’s bare chest, his laughter like wind over the bristly curls, and he brought his hand up to thread through them again. “You are gorgeous, Mycroft, and bloody brilliant, and honestly I want nothing more than to shag all night long, in every position conceivable. But-”

“But to engage in such an intimacy, then part ways for weeks, would be dreadfully painful. You know it as well as I,” Mycroft tipped his head to kiss the top of John’s, then let his uninjured hand come up to John’s and wound their fingers together.

“Yeah,” John answered weakly, Mycroft’s words were more poetic and true than anything he could think of. “But I don’t- I don’t want to let go. It’s not too much to stay here, together?” John could control himself like this, dressed from the waist down, Mycroft’s sprained wrist around his shoulders, and their other hands holding tight.

“No, and I believe a kiss or two more wouldn’t be remiss either; if you’d like to indulge,” John could feel Mycroft smiled against his hair. He smirked as John pulled their hands onto the pillow above his head, and came back down to his lips. 

“I believe I would.”

-o-

When they woke in the morning, to a soft ringtone of a classical genius, John still lay against Mycroft. They’d shifted so that Mycroft’s hurt left arm lay over John’s waist, and John felt Mycroft’s morning enthusiasm against his backside. 

“Too fucking early,” John murmured grumpily, snuggling back into Mycroft, wanting to feel the entirety of Mycroft’s body against his own, head to toe; even (or especially) the firmness of Mycroft’s erection against his arse. 

“The buses, love,” Mycroft reminded John, whispering softly in his ear. 

“Sod the buses,” John growled, voice thick with sleep. 

“You’ve got your organ transplant rotation tomorrow morning at Bart’s. And I’ve got the Bishop to sway.”

John laughed, “‘Course you do.”

Mycroft rolled off the bed, then used his right hand to tug John flat onto his back. He dipped down to give John a searing kiss; hot and full of intention. Then he pulled away, gathering his kit for his morning shower. 

“Christ, you’re such a tease,” John complained with a smile. 

“But one with a logical rationale and, I’m told, a rather fine arse,” Mycroft laughed, before making his way into the bathroom. 

John scurried to ready himself, and he had his simple bag packed and the room otherwise squared away, aside from Mycroft’s belongings, which he’d set on the bed as he found them. He dressed; he’d already showered last night at Liv and Charles’ place after his impromptu bath at the museum. 

Mycroft came out, looking delicious in a black button down and a silver waistcoat and trousers. He tugged slightly at the cuffs, then brushed his hands down his chest, looking at John for approval. 

“I- Wow,” John stuttered, his eyes drifting up and down Mycroft’s tight form. “That might- might be a little racy for a Bishop.”

“Racy, John?” Mycroft frowned dramatically, “Really? I’m not sure how much more I can cover up.” 

John walked up and brushed his hands over the same route Mycroft had just moments before, “You know. What I meant. You’re too clever not to.” He lifted his head to brush his lips up Mycroft’s neck. 

Mycroft gave a soft huff of pleasure, and John ached to keep his hands on Mycroft’s hips, to keep his lips against Mycroft’s skin. He sighed against the long, pale, freckled neck. 

“Much to my dismay, once you’ve packed your things, I believe we're ready to check out.” John stepped back, grabbing the toothbrush and toothpaste he’d set out, and headed into the bathroom to freshen up. 

John looked himself up and down in the mirror, the blush on his face and the smile he couldn’t keep down. He set about brushing his teeth, thinking about the tasting of Mycroft’s minty breath, then his gorgeous smile, and that genuine laugh that was just- _Christ, it was fucking gorgeous_. And that laugh and smile, especially when Mycroft tossed Ellie in air, joyous and carefree. His heart stuttered at the thought of Ellie; how it had physically ached as she’d reached out to him, desperate for him to not leave. 

John looked back at the mirror, to see his face morph into bittersweet resignation. He sighed, then came out to find Mycroft ready to go, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder, holding his one case in his good hand. 

“Shall we?” Mycroft asked, then looked up to John. “You miss her already,” he stated with a sad smile.

John confirmed Mycroft’s observation with a tired huff. He grabbed his own bags, and opened the door to let Mycroft though. He took a look back at the room, then followed behind Mycroft to check out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue :)


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the epilogue...

**30 MAY 11:16**

<I hate leaving her behind>

<Of course. She is charming and delightful.>

<Just like her father.>

<Cor, Mycroft, the pensioner next to me just told me off>

<For ‘doing the sex’ on my mobile>

<Oh? Who else is texting you?>

<Just you, you berk. You made me blush>

<Are we a blushing maiden now?>

<Oh, I’m no maiden.>

<Do I need to prove it to you?>

<My Dr. Watson, I believe *now* you are sexting.>

<Doctor in training>

<And no I’m not.>

<And how else were you planning to prove your maidenless status?>

<... damn.>

  


**16 JUN 10:32**

<hour 27 of 36 hour shift>

<I’m half hoping I catch the flu just to get some sleep.>

<Sounds exhausting. Why such a long shift?>

<Treigsen caught the flu, lucky tosser>

<I’m covering for him>

<Surely they have other resources?>

<Oh, i’m sure.>

<Who better to torture than the med students?>

<Perhaps they will find another student>

<Or a junior doctor to work your shift.>

<i’m not holding my breath>

 

**16 JUN 11:46**

<they found someone to come in, thank god>

<omw home>

<Excellent. I did hope it would work out.>

<I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering another nine hours without sleep.>

  


**22 JUN 14:27**

<Would you happen to have the day off on the 28th?>

<I’ll be back in London and>

<I was hoping I might treat you to dinner.>

<Shit. I’d love to, but I just got assigned to a whipple that day.>

<I can’t miss it.>

<A pancreaticoduodenectomy?>

<You must be very good.>

<Damn straight.>

<But no, I’m just observing the procedure.>

< Answering the consultant’s pages. Grunt work.>

<Don’t underestimate yourself.>

<I imagine you have a fine eye for surgical detail and >

<strong, sure, steady hands.>

<And I have such an imagination. >

<Stop doing that!>

<Doing what?>

<Complimenting me, making me blush!>

<You must have received compliments before, John.>

<Do they all make you blush?>

<No. But nobody says it like you do.>

<How so?>

<The trauma surgeon said something really similar,>

<A “keen eye for surgical detail”>

<But then you had to bring up my hands>

<And your imagination.>

<Without you here, imagination is all I have.>

<For an upstanding Englishman, you’re a bit cheeky.>

<For a doctor, you’re a bit modest.>

<I can’t wait to see you properly>

<Just so I can properly prove you wrong.>

<I quiver with anticipation.>

<Jesus, Mycroft>

 

**29 JUN 16:52**

<How did the procedure go?>

<God, I was so bored.>

<I was allowed to open the fascia in the beginning>

<And close it at the end.>

<For the other 8 hours, I hovered over Belgram’s shoulder>

<Hoping to catch a glimpse of something.>

<Was it at least worthwhile?>

<Yeah, I saw most of it, and honestly it was fascinating>

<But watching isn’t nearly as interesting as doing.>

<Ah, you prefer the battlefield.>

<I should introduce you to my brother.>

<The blackmailing nightmare?>

 

**29 JUN 18:16**

<Is that what he calls me?>

<Sherlock?>

<Obviously.>

<Why are you texting Mycroft?>

<I thought you were supposed to be clever>

<You are a medical student, studying to be a trauma surgeon>

<You met my brother on one of his business trips abroad>

<However you actually live in London>

<You have a sexual interest in my brother>

<So I would think you were blind>

<if not for the surgeon bit>

<You’ve almost fucked him>

<Which Mycroft is desperately trying to rectify>

<Obviously>

<Even I could have figured all that out from my texts.>

<You are a single father. Widowed, not divorced.>

<You speak passable German, had an appendectomy>

<And you bonded with Mycroft over your disappointing brothers.>

<That’s amazing, that bit about my appendix>

<I know>

<You’re almost as good as Mycroft>

<Almost?!>

<He didn’t point out the obvious bits>

<And he got it right the first time>

<Damnit. What’d I miss?>

<You should ask him.>

 

**2 JUL 9:22**

<I apologize for my brother’s lack of decorum.>

<I imagine you do loads of that.>

<Indeed. I had to track him down using the CCTV>

<He wouldn’t return my mobile until he’d figured out where he’d gone wrong.>

<Even then, it was after he’d broken into Scotland Yard to look you up.>

<The sergeant he stole a badge from was thankfully understanding.>

<A generous donation to the Dependents’ Trust and>

<Sherlock only spent two night in jail.>

<Do you do that often, tracking people with CCTV?>

<Not often, no. I was allowed special permissions>

<due to the sensitive information held on my mobile.>

<That’s a shame.>

<Pardon?>

<That you can’t use the CCTVs at your whims>

<Let’s just say I know a spot.>

<Well, aren’t you just becoming such the naughty tart?>

<My reputation is at stake.>

<Don’t want you to think I’m … virginal.>

<Yes, Ellie’s presence had already disabused me of that notion>

<And there goes my erection.>

 

**10 JUL 20:07**

<I received a call from Ellie today.>

<I saw Liv had called, but she said everything is okay?>

<Yes. Ellie was a little homesick today.>

<When Liv got your voicemail, she rung me next.>

<I just talked to her this morning. What made her so upset?>

<She apparently misplaced Penny>

<Her “Cwof” was distressed.>

<Were you able to calm the stuffed bit of fabric?>

<Quite. As a neuron, I was able to appeal to his logical side.>

<It helped I was able to tell Ellie where she’d misplaced Penny.>

<Over the phone?>

<Just a bit of simple deduction.>

<That’s fantastic>

<I’ll bet she loved that.>

<She asked if I could buy her another jacket potato.>

<Of course she did.>

<Damnit, that actually sounds delicious>

<Too bad I don’t have time to breathe for another 3 days>

<Let alone make it to Covent Garden.>

 

**11 JUL 15:41**

 <I was having the worst day.>

<I finally slog my way over to noon conference.>

<And they’ve got a fucking potato bar set up for lunch.>

<How unlikely is that?>

<Totally turned my day around.>

<I’m glad. You deserve something nice>

<Don’t forget to breathe. Ellie (and I) need you.>

  
  
**15 JUL 12:38**

 <I’m off the 17th. You available?>

<Damn my schedule and damn your rotations. I’m in France until the 23rd.>

<What the hell do you do anyways?>

<Just a civil servant. I am shuttled around the EU to play nice with others.>

<I’d rather you were here to play nice with me.>

<Oh, John, were I with you, I wouldn’t play nice at all.>

<Christ, you wanton little tease.>

<I may have to stalk you>

<Just to taste your lips again.>

<Now who’s playing the trollop?>

<Can you blame me?>

<This could win awards for the longest foreplay of all time>

<I do hope our reunion will be award-winning as well.>

 

**28 JUL 8:22**

<Your brother stopped by for a chat.>

<A chat.>

<More or less.>

<Broke into my first floor window>

<Imagine my surprise when I came home>

<At 2 in the morning.>

<Oh Lord, what has the little brat done this time?>

<Nothing really>

<It was actually sort of sweet>

<Said that I’ll do>

<But that even though I have nothing to blackmail>

<(which seemed to disappoint him?)>

<I should know he’s capable of planting something>

<With the Yard none the wiser>

<I think it was his ‘don’t hurt my brother’ talk>

<And I think I passed?>

<Well, that went better than I had feared>

<I’m rather touched.>

<Also, I have a lunch hour free on the 9th.>

<Are you, perchance, available?>

<Ellie and Livonia arrive in Somerset at 1245>

<That’s lovely. I shall think fondly of the two of you as I work through lunch.>

<Come with me.>

<Alas, I’ve only the hour.>

<I’m nearing a promotion at work>

<It requires substantially less travel.>

<You’ll stay in London, yeah?>

<Absolutely.>

<Good. My rotations will be less hectic after the 6th>

<We might find time for each other after all this.>

<Absence does make the heart grow fonder.>

<And the balls bluer.>

 

-o-

John checked his watched for the fourth time in as many minutes, then leaned forward slightly to look down the track. The flowers in his hand had been Mary’s favourites; ones that her mum had grown in the garden of her childhood home. After being separated from Ellie for several weeks, he was finding these last few minutes to be nearly unbearable.

He glanced around, wondering if he could recognize Livonia’s cousin. He’d been fortunate that Liv’s cousin invited her to come stay for a week around the same time Ellie was due home. Not that hours on a train with a toddler weren’t thrilling, but John imagined it would be considerably less so without Mycroft.

The tell tale whistle of the upcoming train released tension and anxiety John hadn’t even realised he’d been holding in. He broke into a wide smile as the train entered the station to unload, and held the flowers upright in front of him, being sure not to block his face.

“Papa!” Ellie’s voice echoed loud and clear.

“Ellie!” he called back, though he couldn’t see her through the crowd.

Suddenly she burst out under the legs of an unsuspecting stranger. Her frog backpack bounced loosely and both Penny and Cwof were pressed tightly against her chest as her little legs carried her forward as fast as they could.

John knelt down, scooping her up in the hand that didn’t hold the flowers and hugged her tightly. “I missed you so much, love!”

“That is quite the trip,” Livonia said, materialising in front of him, loaded down with the car seat and two bulky cases.

Ellie peeled her arms off John’s neck and swung her head, scanning the vicinity. “Where’s Big Cwoft?” she demanded.

Livonia laughed as John hung his head in mock shame.

“‘Cwof’ had to work.”

“Not Cwof, CrowfT!” Ellie emphasized.

“She’s been very insistent about that ‘t’ every since she spoke with him on the phone,” Livonia said, while John traded the flowers for the car seat. “Oh these are lovely,” she smiled, “I used to grow these in our garden a long time ago. They were Mary’s-”

She paused, then patted his arm. “Of course, you knew that, that’s why you got them. Such a sweet young man you are. And speaking of, how is Mr. Holmes?”

John smiled, glancing towards the ground before looking back at Livonia. “We’ve been texting, but can’t seem to meet up in person.”

“That’s a shame,” Livonia offered and gave a quick squeeze with the hand still on his arm. She gave John a one armed hug, then kissed Ellie on the forehead. “Ooh! There’s Tillie!”

They quickly bade their farewells; Livonia waving goodbye one last time as she hurried away to greet her cousin. John hoisted up Ellie’s car seat and luggage onto the cart he had the foresight to fetch on his way in. He sat Ellie up on his shoulders, placed her hands to his chin to circumvent her preferred stranglehold on his neck, and guided the cart to Mike’s borrowed car.

-o-

With Ellie on one hip, her pack over his shoulder, and her luggage in his hand, John walked up to the front door of his flat. Ellie bounced in his arms, excited to play with all the toys she’d missed over the last two months. John wobbled, balancing on one leg before stabilising himself by setting down her luggage. He fished out his key and set Ellie down inside the door to let her run about after being latched into a seat for the better part of the last several hours.

Ellie sprinted through the front room, through the kitchen and John heard her squeal as she hopped onto her bed. He smiled at her unbridled enthusiasm, then followed her. He heard the tell tale sign of her dumping out Lego bricks, and cringed.

He called out to her as he entered the kitchen, “Ellie, make sure you-”

John stopped in awe. On the kitchen table sat the largest bouquet of flowers he’d ever seen. There must have been at least six or seven dozen of them. John recognized the roses and lilies, but the handful of other species, while brightly coloured, were unknown to him. He smiled; which of his roommates had gotten such an elaborate display?

John set down the luggage and Ellie’s pack, then plucked out a particularly fragrant flower to scent. He heard the patter of Ellie’s feet run back into the living room via the bathroom hall. The flat was mostly childproof, as it was also bachelor proof, so John just gave an exasperated huff when he heard the springs in the old worn sofa. Focusing back on the flowers, he rifled through the veritable rainbow of blooms looking for a card. Between two orange flowers, there it stood, with the name ‘John’ in bold capital letters. He furrowed his brow, then flipped it over.

>   _My dearest John and darling Ellie,_
> 
> _I hope you enjoy this welcome home. I do wish I could have been there for you both._
> 
> _~MH_

John could feel the heat rising to his cheeks and cursed himself for being so obvious, before laughing at himself for blushing in his own flat. He removed the card to prevent unwanted questions from his roommate - even _he_ didn’t know how to explain Mycroft - and picked up Ellie’s bags.

As he unpacked her clothes, Ellie grew loud, chanting, “Cwoft! Cwoft! Cwoft!” John mused she must have seen the flowers, then caught himself - _she couldn’t read_. He looked around, and with realisation, saw the stuffed neuron was sticking out the top of her pack. Pulling it out of the bag, he headed back to the sitting room. He found her on the top of the sofa, looking out the window.

“Do you want your Cwoft?” he asked, holding the neuron up and wiggling it side to side.

“No! Not Cwof, Cwoft!” Ellie insisted, looking back briefly, then swiveling her head back to the window, “Want Cwoft!”

Confused, John walked over to stand by Ellie, following the direction her chubby index finger was pointing. Walking up to the flat, looking both dashing and uncharacteristically nervous, was Mycroft Holmes himself.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://phipiohsum475.tumblr.com).


End file.
